


Straight to Hell

by SwordDraconis113



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Alternative Universe - FBI, F/F, F/M, Kidnapping, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 21:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5600998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwordDraconis113/pseuds/SwordDraconis113
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan was just doing her damned job. She didn’t expect to get wrapped up in all this criminal activity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Straight to Hell

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't want to discuss what the ships are and spoil it. Just know that there will probably be a mixed group, with sexuality being 'no big deal'. So, yeah.

  
“So, let’s go through this again, shall we?” Emma’s teeth grated as the FBI Bitch shuffled the transcript over the desk. “From my understanding, you happened to just walk in on this big case?”   


She’d been awake for forty hours now, half of it had been because she was chasing a skip, and the other half had been spent in custody. Emotional and physical exhaustion left her with little capacity to withhold her anger, especially from some woman in a suit who seemed to be taking pleasure in her discomfort 

“ _Yes_ ,” she seethed. “I told you, one of his boys had skipped out on a court date.” 

“So you’re a bail bondsman then?” 

“Bondsperson,” she hissed, pulling at the handcuffs on the desk, “are these really necessary?” 

“You seem like you could be dangerous,” she smirked, white teeth glinting between her lips. Emma _really_ didn’t like her, not one damned bit. The only reason the handcuffs were still on her was because Agent Bitch’s partner was out talking to some other witness. “So, while we wait for confirmation of your… _job_ ,” Emma’s glare hardened at the way she said the word, “How about you tell me how you came to find Mr Jones?” 

Emma took a breath, shutting her eyes. “I was tailing him. I’d found him at one of his old haunts. The _Jeering,_ _Jolly_ something.” She couldn’t remember the place, just that it’d been dark, dingy and a place for creeps to wallow. 

“Which is…what, some kind of bar for lowlifes who skip bail?” 

“One of those old irish pubs or something, I don’t know,” Emma snapped, “What does it matter, all I know is that I found him there and I followed him out to that damned warehouse. I waited for an hour, he didn’t come out and then I heard gunshots so I-“ her throat stuck there. 

“You went in,” the FBI agent prompted. Emma couldn’t remember her damned name, she’d been quick to flash her badge, her name rolling out around the say time as handcuffs hit over her wrists, seemingly moments after…after… 

“Yeah, I went in,” Emma spoke softly. All she remembered was the gunshot blast going off again, something had sprayed over her face as some poor guy collapsed onto his knees before her. Somehow that had lead to the FBI and everything going crazy at once. “I kicked the door in, and a gun went off and he…” 

“Agent Rivers had been a friend of mine. Because of what happened, I had to be the one to tell his husband and daughter that he won’t be coming home tonight.” 

Emma’s throat swelled. She hadn’t even really seen Agent Rivers face, just a corpse with a hole in head leading to his brain. Nausea swam in her gut. She kept replaying the moment in her head. She kicked the door open, the gun went off and Jones was staring at her from across the warehouse. She kicked the door open, the gun went off, and Jones stared at her. 

“There’s a child with one less parent in the world, Miss Swan.” 

“I wasn’t a part of it,” she repeated. 

The woman shuffled papers on the desk, pulling out what Emma could see from the white glossy paper in her hand to be a photograph. Before she could look away, the photograph was turned around, revealing the victim’s gunshot to her. 

Nausea hit her again, a gag pulling at her throat. “This is what you did, Miss Swan. You took a man from this world.” 

“No! I didn’t have anything to do with it!” Emma yelled, her eyes filling with tears, “all I knew was that some skip had entered the warehouse. God, he was just a day filler, only worth like five hundred bucks, anyway. I wish I never took the fucking job.” She breathed out harshly, her eyes having torn away from the photograph to focus on the cuffs on her hands. “God dammit, he’d been arrested for drunken disorderly assault and battery. He should have been _easy_.” Her hands splayed out in the handcuffs, straining in the metal as she took a deep breath. She didn’t deserve this. 

Looking up into the woman’s eyes, Emma blinked back at the wetness in her eyes, hating how painful her throat felt. 

The agent’s face was schooled, unreadable. Slowly she folded up Emma’s transcript and placed it back into the file with the photograph, closing it before she rose from the table. 

“Can I go home?” Emma asked hopefully. She just wanted this night to be over. 

The woman gave her a raised eyebrow and opened the door of the interview room, leaving Emma alone, still handcuffed to the desk like some prisoner. Well fuck you too. 

The links jingled as she drew her wrists up and down, before letting out a breath, staring at the table tiredly. 

This was going to be a long night. 

Her head _thunked_ on the table, eyes closing as she accepted that they were probably just going to leave her here to stew in her guilt. Interviewing a suspect 101 and all. They’d already done that before, having first placed her in the room, confused and leaved her there to sit for an hour before some girl took a record down of what happened. 

She was just so tired. 

“Emma?” 

Bleary eyed, she pulled her head up off the table to see Agent Bitch’s partner. She couldn’t remember his name either, aside from the disdainful way Agent Bitch had called him ‘Prince Charming’ in the ride over. 

He was tall, decent looking guy and all. Had one of those smiles that basically said ‘all-american boy’. Probably played football in high school or some other cliché. 

“Here, I thought you’d want some coffee,” he said, placing some coffee down in front of her. Going by the smell, it was instant stuff. “I didn’t know how you’d take it,” he said, allowing the handcuffs to be removed from the hook on the table so she could drink. 

“Black’s fine,” she said hoarsely, before clearing her throat. “Thank you.” At this point, the acidic bite might just be enough to pull her attention. 

Charming had taken off his coat to sit down, and Emma could see the empty holsters under his arms and the blue suspenders he wore. It felt almost comical at this stage. “We got a call confirming most of your story. Jones had skipped a court day and you were the person who’d taken on the bail.” 

Emma nodded, holding back on a cynical remark as she took a sip of the coffee. Yep, instant stuff, the contents felt like they were going to permanently stain her teeth yellow. 

“We just need to go over a few details,” Charming spoke to her. “It’ll only be a few moments.” 

She set the coffee down, staring up at his tiredly. “Can I have these cuffs off now?” 

“I’d like to help,” he chuckled softly, “But Agent Mills has the keys.” Ah, that’s right. Agent Mills was FBI Bitch. Of course. Sighing, Emma looked down at the black, watery contents to see if she could see her reflection looking back. Nothing but the damned fluorescent light hanging above. 

“Is this some good cop, bad cop scenario?” Emma asked. 

“Just some details I need to get through. Your transcript mentions that you came through the alleyway side door.” 

“Yeah, Jones had gone through that entrance. When I heard gunshots, I kicked it open.” 

“Did you happen to see who shot Agent Rivers?” 

Emma closed her eyes, taking a breath as she tried to remember. At this time, her thoughts were all muddled into one. “Maybe,” she said. “They were tall? I think.” She kicked open the door, blood hit her face and Jones was staring at her. 

“Did you see anything…strange?” 

“Strange?” Emma questioned. “I witnessed some crime lord shoot a man dead! That’s…that’s enough strangeness for me.” Charming’s face, an aptly given name Emma decided, turned into a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled under her breath. 

“I’m just trying to get all the facts. We didn’t expect anyone to be there, let alone the big showdown before a bail bondsman kicks down the door.” 

“Person,” Emma corrected tiredly. 

“Sorry?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

There was a brief pause before Charming stood up, “let’s see if I can get Regina to get you out of those cuffs.” 

Emma sunk in the seat, watching him leave as she took another mouthful of the pot coffee, swallowing it painful as she rolled her eyes to the ceiling. She just wanted this to be over, dammit. 

The fluorescent light flickered right next to where there was some strange brown stain on the ceiling. Dully, a thought wandered if it was blood. Probably. FBI Agents getting a little bit rough to get information. She couldn’t picture Agent Mills getting dirty herself, probably got Charming to roll his sleeves up. 

Shutting her eyes, she tried to get a bit more sleep when the door opened again, Agent Mills coming in with a glare as she forcibly grabbed Emma’s wrists, tugging them to her sharply. “Hey! What the hell!” Emma snapped before the cuffs came off, dropping to the table. 

“You’re free to go, Miss Swan,” Regina said dryly, stepping back. “It seems you’re use to us has run out.” 

Emma glared back, “what the hell is your problem?” 

“I don’t like you. Something about you screams unnatural, and it’s my duty to deal with that. Be sure, if we catch you around the crime syndicate, I’ll personally bring you in and make sure there’s a nice, small cell for you.” There was a sharp smile on her lips, some pleasure taken at the idea of throwing Emma into a cell. 

Rubbing at her wrists, Emma resisted biting back on the comment, just in case Agent Bitch tried to do that without probable cause. 

The door to the interview room opened and Emma stepped out, before a business card was thrust in her direction, “Hey,” Charming said, “If you remember anything else, okay? We might be touch later if we find something too.” 

A threat, Emma recognised as she took his card. Softer than Regina’s, but Emma was used to recognising threats. “Thanks,” she said dryly. “Can I have my gun back?” 

“Yeah, of course.” He turned around, leading her to sit down on a plastic chair before he walked over to where Emma could only assume to be his desk. He returned a moment later, handing the weapon back to her. “Ballistics confirm that the gun wasn’t a match to bullet wound, and residue came back that you hadn’t fired any weapon.” 

“Yeah, I know.” She checked the safety was on first, holstering the gun as she moved to step into the hall. 

“Hey, I’ll walk you out, it can be a maze with all the office spaces,” Charming said. Leading her through the arrangement of bleach-white halls, down a set of stairs and out the front door. Thankfully, conversation didn’t pass between them and Emma didn’t have to think any further than placing her left foot after right. 

When they reached the glass doors, Charming moved a step towards her, placing a hand on her shoulder, “Take care of yourself, Emma. Call if you need anything.” 

“Will do,” she muttered, stepping out of the glass door to leave Charming inside the building. Only as she started walking down the pavement to where she assumed the car lot was that she realised she had no idea if anyone had picked up her car. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she growled. 

It took an hour to get some cab to hers, and an unfortunate cut in savings to pay for the damned ride. “Thanks,” she muttered to the taxi driver, tiredly pulling herself out of the backseat, onto the pavement. Her apartment was six flight of stairs up. She just kept getting the low blows. 

Marching up the concrete steps, inside the building, she rubbed at the lacerations on her hands. 

Her wrists still hurt from the damned cuffs and as she rubbed them, pulling her keys from her pocket, she felt frustration over the whole situation intensify. How fucking dare _she_ interrogate her like some criminal. She was doing her damned job on a skip, it wasn’t her freaking fault that she walked on some shooting. 

An execution. 

Emma swayed in the hall of her apartment, leaning against a wall to draw in a breath. She was almost through this. A few more steps and she could sleep. 

Walking into her apartment, she opened the fridge door to stare between the last of the cheap wine she had, or the orange juice. It was ten in the morning, she went with the orange juice. 

The plastic cap untwist as she tiredly found a cup on the sink, before she poured from the three litre bottle into her glass. 

“Hello Miss Swan, is it?” 

The orange juice slipped from her grasp, both bottle and glass falling to the tiled floor. The glass smashed on impact, the sound registering a reaction and the gun on her hip unholstered, pointing to the mystery figure. “Who the hell are you?” 

A middle aged man was sitting on her arm chair in her apartment. He hadn’t even set off her security system, what the actual fuck. 

The cane by his side twirled in between his fingers before the man’s lips tugged in what Emma would hesitantly call a smile. “A friend,” he said, “You may call me…Mr Gold for now.” 

“Some name,” Emma growled. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?” 

Mr Gold rose to move slowly towards her with his cane, making no effort to acknowledge the gun pointed at him. “I’m here to offer you a deal, dearie.” 

“A deal?” Emma said. “Why the hell would I want to make a deal with some burglar?” 

“Now, I’ve committed no crime so far-“ 

“How about _trespassing_ for one?” 

“-And though I could have placed a gun to your head, I’ve decided to talk to you as one reasonable adult to another.” He gestured between the two of them and Emma began to feel a twitch in her eyes. 

She just wanted this day fucking over. 

“Which is why you broke into my apartment, is it?” Emma felt her finger move closer to the trigger. “You’re not winning me over here.” 

A finger rose from the cane, as Mr Gold paused in his steps, “I’ll be but a moment longer in your home, and then I’ll take my leave.” 

Emma gritted her teeth. She didn’t like this guy one bit. “Get talking before I lose my patience and shoot you.” 

“That wouldn’t be very wise,” he smiled. “But, let’s move on, shall we? I have a job for you.” 

“Thank you, but I’m quite happy with my job. Now please leave before I call the cops.” 

“Not that kind of a job, dearie. This one you’ll want to take on.” His smile sat on his lips in a way that made Emma feel on edge. Either he was about to offer her a ludicrous amount of money for something highly illegal, or she was about to die if she turned him down. “It’s very simple, all I need you to do is deliver a certain package to a certain address.” 

“Use UPS or Fedex like everyone else,” she snapped. “I don’t deliver packages for criminals.” 

“This package requires some more…discretion,” he said, as if it were some inside joke. 

“And why the hell would I do it?” Emma asked. “The way I see it, I have the upper hand at the moment.” 

Mr Gold laughed, low and soft, “Actually, dearie, I have the upper hand, because I have your son.” 

Emma blinked. Her _son?_ “You have the wrong household buddie. There’s no kid living here.” 

Gold’s expression didn’t shift, causing dread to sink Emma’s stomach. “My mistake then. I was under the impression that ten years ago, while in prison, you gave a child up for adoption whom I’ve recently have come into contact with. His name is Henry, if you’re curious.” 

“Like _hell_ ,” Emma glared, feeling the anger rile up inside of her. Her son, her _son_. No fucking way he could have her son. He was probably adopted out into a nice home in Florida, far away from all of this. 

Mr Gold reached into his breast pocket, holding up a finger as Emma pointed her gun harder on him. “Just a moment,” he said, before slowly pulling out a photo, placing it onto the table. “The family resemblance is easy to spot.” 

Grabbing the photo with one hand, she made sure the gun was still steadily focused on Mr Gold’s heart as she took a step backwards. 

Her eyes darted from the boy’s picture, holding a newspaper in a warehouse with yesterday’s headlines on the front page. He had a round face like her, big eyes and a curious face that reminded Emma of his biological father more than her, but she could see the resemblance Mr Gold mentioned. 

It was her son. 

Her _fucking_ kid of a son. 

She felt the breath kicked out of her, looking at the photo before she dropped it down. “This is yesterday’s newspaper, I’ll need more proof than that.” She was surprised by the way her voice didn’t shake, because her legs were doing a damn job of it. 

“Take on the job and I’ll let you call him before I have someone hand over the package to you.” 

“And what about his family?” she snapped. “Did you kill them?” 

“Oh,” he laughed, “they’re not part of the equation in this.” The smile peeled wider and Emma tried _very_ hard not to shoot him in the face. She didn’t need to ask what would happen if she refused. 

“What…” she tried, taking a breath. Panic was surging inside of her. She wasn’t willing to call out his bluff, not for the kid. Her kid or not. _Her kid._ “What do you need me to do exactly?” she asked, licking her lips. 


End file.
